


Love is Patient, Love is Kind

by dorkpatroller



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Friends to Lovers, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Roommates, Vomiting, standard hanahaki tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22374478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkpatroller/pseuds/dorkpatroller
Summary: Sylvain knows it's hard to dispute. Googling his symptoms says Hanahaki. He's spooked his roommate something fierce. He just doesn't get it. He would have known if he fell in love, right?
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 135





	Love is Patient, Love is Kind

Sylvain grips the sides of the toilet seat like his life depends on it; like it’s the only thing stopping him from falling in and drowning. He’s not a stranger to waking up hungover, but this isn’t in his normal routine. Truth is, this might be the weirdest thing that ever happened to him. He sits back on his knees and looks down into the toilet. There isn’t--well it is gross but it’s not what he expected. There are petals in there--and hey that’s a perk because he really thought they were worms for a second--floating around all withered up in the water. 

He’s got next to no memory of what happened at that party, but he may have eaten a flower. That might be a real possibility. “Hey.” Sylvain snaps his head in the direction of the door. Ashe is leaning against it, just looking about how any unfortunate roommate would when their friend puked. Like he doesn’t want to be there. “Are you alright?” 

Sylvain reaches up and flushes the toilet before he can even pretend to see the petals. He doesn’t know why his first instinct is to hide it, especially from someone as genuinely helpful as Ashe, but he flushes and stands up just a touch too quickly, and he nods his head. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Just went too hard last night.” 

Ashe rolls his eyes and pushes his weight off the doorway to step away. “I knew you weren’t really studying. I’ll make you coffee.” 

»»————- ✿ ————-««

At breakfast, Sylvain is perfectly fine. He sort of expected lingering nausea to be settled over him, but there’s nothing. He eats his cereal and drinks his coffee and acts like nothing happened because, well, he’s starting to think nothing did. 

So say he ate a flower last night and threw it up this morning. Would that happen? But it would probably have been digested. Maybe. He’s not an expert. “Ashe,” He ends up asking. Ashe glances at him from where he’s rinsing his bowl out in the sink. “Have you ever heard of a person vomiting flowers?” 

“Um,” Ashe hesitates. He looks like he’s really thinking, wracking his brain for any information on the subject. “Maybe in one of the Harry Potter books or something…” 

It makes Sylvain laugh, and that’s what makes him decide this is a fluke. He doesn’t think anything is wrong with him. He doesn’t know how he puked up a flower, but he’ll let it go. 

He’ll let it go, but he thinks Ashe looks a little too lost in thought after that. 

»»————- ✿ ————-««

Everything is perfectly normal for the next handful of weeks. The only thing that changes is the weather, and how often they spend at the kitchen table together working on math. Ashe’s specifically. Considering how bright he is and how much he loves to read, he can’t focus on calculus to save his life. Sylvain doesn’t mind--math is just easy for him, and obviously, he doesn’t mind Ashe’s company or they wouldn’t be living together. 

The only thing that’s remotely different, if it can really be considered a thing at all, is a pressure that’s been settled into the center of his chest. 

Ashe lets him clear his throat without input exactly three times, but the fourth time he looks up with a tight frown. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah. Just coming down with a cold maybe,” Sylvain answers. He reaches over and taps the eraser of his pencil against Ashe’s paper. “This one isn’t right.” 

Ashe accepts the answer and they keep working, but after another few muffled coughs, Ashe huffs and stands up and heads over to the electric kettle. “Are you just doing that to get out of math?” 

“No,” Ashe answers while he digs out the tea leaves. “I’m doing it because you should be drinking tea if you’re sick.” 

Sometimes it’s annoying. Ashe being a little too motherly, that is. Sylvain gets why he does it, but that doesn’t change the fact that his own mother barely mothered him, let alone anyone else. 

Ashe raised his siblings until he was 16 years old, trapped in the foster system. He gets it. He had to be their brother, their mom, their dad, and their advocate. Treating his friends the same way is probably some deeply ingrained instinct. 

It’s fine. It’s just tea. It’s a minor distraction from the math homework and it only takes about five minutes to boil and steep the whole thing. Ashe is just trying to set the mug in front of Sylvain when everything gets a little out of hand.

It’s coming up. The pain in his chest--Sylvain can feel it lodged in his throat and he’s standing to get anywhere but the kitchen table, but Ashe is right there in his way. 

The mug shatters when it hits the ground. Sylvain can hear it but his focus is on putting his mouth to his elbow and coughing there and not directly in Ashe’s face. The mug is broken, the tea is hot and spilled across the floor, and Ashe’s yelp reminds Sylvain that he’s barefoot, standing in that glass. 

The situation is made a whole lot more chaotic when Sylvain tries to help. He swoops his arm around Ashe’s waist and scoops him forward against his chest to pick him up. Ashe yelps again and baps his hand against Sylvain’s back, and he doesn’t stop until Sylvain all but drops him onto the sofa and stumbles back to resume choking to death. 

“Are you--Are you alright?” Ashe asks again, but he’s the one reaching for Kleenex to stop the bleeding on his foot. Sylvain is fine anyway--about two seconds later the demon caught in his throat dislodges and he finds himself with half a flower in his hand. 

“What?” Ashe asks. He sits there staring at the flower and forgets all about his own problems. “What in the world?”

He’s just staring at Sylvain with those big, nervous eyes and it would be different if Sylvain didn’t feel like he might puke for real. “Are you alright?” He snaps back, and then he leaves the room to hide. 

»»————- ✿ ————-««

It’s not more than thirty minutes later that Ashe pushes his way through Sylvain’s door with a new mug of tea. It isn’t until that moment that Sylvain thinks about the mess he left for Ashe to clean up. The tea, the glass, and the blood. Plus he had to bandage his foot. 

Sylvain feels a little bad--all he did was sit in his bed and think about all the things he’s done in life that led him to choking up flowers. “Thanks,” he mumbles while he reaches out for the mug. Ashe invites himself to sit down with him, just on the edge of Sylvain’s bed. Always the edge, because he knows what Sylvain’s done there and he also knows the frequency of the sheets being washed. 

(They’re perfectly clean.)

“So the other day when you asked me about people throwing up flowers..?” 

“Yeah,” Sylvain mutters.

“Has this been happening a lot?” 

“No.” Sylvain shakes his head. This has only happened twice--he doesn’t think that’s a lot… although it is twice more than most people. 

“Did you tell your doctor?” 

Sylvain actually laughs. It’s really cute of Ashe to assume he’s got a doctor. He hasn’t seen a doctor since he was 17. Judging by the way Ashe shoves his arm he gets that memo. 

“Fine,” Ashe mutters. “Anyway, I think it is familiar. I think I read it in a book once. I think the main character did that.” 

“Did what?”

“Coughed up--Sylvain, what else could I--the flowers.” 

Huh. If it’s been in a book maybe it’s real? Not that what’s happening to him right now isn’t real, but he would be willing to believe it was a prank if someone told him. 

»»————- ✿ ————-««

Sylvain spends the next two weeks casually googling hanahaki disease. It turns out that it’s a fictional illness in a handful of stories, but it’s not real. Probably. The possibility of flowers growing and taking root in his lungs isn’t the part that seems unbelievable. 

Ashe has gotten way deep worrying about it. He’s probably trying to help, but it’s a little stressful too. Between what he’s already reading on Reddit and Ashe piling more weird facts on top of that, it’s overwhelming. “It’s always, always unrequited love. Are you sure there isn’t someone?” 

Sylvain has answered this question about eighty times, and he’ll probably do it a dozen more. “I don’t do love.” He looks over at Ashe across the couch and smirks when he gets a huff in return. 

That’s the unbelievable part. Magic or curses are fine, but Sylvain isn’t in love. He wouldn’t know love if it walked up and slapped him in the face. He’s had his fair share of flings and he has never been in love. 

Ashe has his phone in his hand, hanging off of his fingers by his Pokeball pop socket. He flaps his mouth like a fish. “Everyone does love, Sylvain. We don’t get to choose how or when.”

Sylvain just doesn’t think he’s in love. It’s the craziest thing to imagine. Wouldn’t he know? Wouldn’t he have an inkling about it? “Have you ever fallen in love?” He asks to deflect the conversation away from himself. 

Ashe is pink up to his ears in the blink of an eye. Sylvain swallows a laugh--it’s funny. Cute even. He pushes the pop socket in and out and nods his head. “As a matter of fact… yes. I have been in love before.” 

“And did you tell them?” 

“What?” 

“Did you tell that person you loved them?” 

Ashe squirms. “Well, no. But it wasn’t a case of life or death.” 

“Mhm. I’m not dying, and don’t you see my point? If it was love, why wouldn’t you get a disease for not telling your person? How do you get away with it and not me? It probably isn’t love.” 

Ashe shakes his head. “That’s not fair, I don’t make the rules.” 

“I’m not in love,” Sylvain says. And he’s not. He can’t be, because if he was he would know it. 

»»————- ✿ ————-««

Sylvain has spent enough time in the past weeks googling the symptoms of hanahaki and trying to find some other disease with similar symptoms that he’s sure of one thing: only hanahaki causes you to cough up flowers. The problem that persists is that he’s not in love. He can’t even remember the names of some of the people he’s taken out, and he certainly wouldn’t care enough to love them. 

The flowers keep coming up, though. Sylvain feels less and less like himself lately. He’s skipping classes on days when he feels worse than others, and he’s started keeping a bin by his bed on the chance he wakes up from his sleep choking. The first time that happened, he nearly died in his panic, not from the flowers. He must have woken Ashe up in the bedroom next door because he came in and rubbed Sylvains back long after the flowers stopped. 

He knows he should see a doctor, but school is really a lot right now. He barely has the energy to drag himself into class or do his work, and making time to see a doctor is taking too much effort. So he procrastinates. He’s still hoping it will all clear up on its own when his body realizes he’s not actually in love. 

Ashe caught him earlier that day coughing up a whole flower. Neither of them said anything because the attack ended quickly, and Sylvain dropped the flower into the kitchen trash. Imagine his surprise when he wanders into the kitchen for a snack and finds the flower in question laying on a paper towel on the kitchen table. 

Ashe is seated beside it. His laptop is open and he’s got earbuds in and he looks like he’s studying, but he’s obviously looking up flowers. Sylvain sets his hand on the back of Ashe’s chair, startling him. “Sylvain!” He gasps. 

The flower is purple but spotted with brown, dried blood. The petals are wilted and some of them are ripped. It just looks like an ugly weed to Sylvain. Maybe under different circumstances, it could be pretty. “What are you doing?” Sylvain asks, but he’s not really mad about it. Ashe being nosy is just part of his life lately. Ashe is obsessively worried about this. 

“Sometimes… well in stories, at least, I’ve heard that the flowers can mean something. Sometimes they can give clues to who the person is, or what you’re feeling towards them. So I thought maybe if I knew what type of flower it was, I could figure that out. And I did! This is an aster.” 

Sylvain hums while he walks around the table and sits across from Ashe. He looks very proud of himself for figuring that out. “I don’t really know what an aster is.” 

“W-Well, they’re hearty flowers that tend to represent love, trust, and patience.” Ashe turns the computer around and Sylvain pretends like he’s really reading the article about flower language, but really he’s just inwardly laughing.

Patience? No one is patient with him. The people he dates are all frantically trying to get into a rich kid’s pants. Dimitri, Felix, and Ingrid all know and love him in their own ways, but Sylvain doesn’t think they have an ounce of patience left for him. Just exasperation and maybe some hope deep down. The only person who bothers to be patient with Sylvain is Ashe. 

Weird, but his chest constricts when his thoughts briefly connect Ashe to the flowers. Now and then the same thing happens when they’re together. They’re really close! They spend time together with schoolwork, they eat together, they live together, they’re practically each others free therapists… although the advice may not always be the brightest. But that’s not love. He doesn’t love Ashe. 

If he did, maybe he would have been listening to what he was saying. “...anyway, if that doesn’t help you figure it out… I finally found some medical journals that have real hanahaki victims documented.” 

Oh, that’s interesting. Sylvain hasn’t been able to prove it’s real yet. “Yeah?” 

“Yes. There’s a cure--just like in the stories. They can go in and remove the flowers, but it really does… I mean I don’t know why…” In the stories it makes people forget who they loved. Ashe shrugs his shoulders but continues talking. “In the cases where the surgery was a success, the patience really did suffer from acute amnesia and forget that person they were in love with…” 

How is that even possible? Sylvain isn’t convinced that it is. Amnesia is brought on by like… events. It’s a symptom usually, isn’t it? Of a head injury or a high fever or something. Even if it was a reaction to anesthesia, how could it specifically be the person in question? “That doesn’t make sense.” 

“Well it doesn’t matter,” Ashe argues. “You don’t even know who you’re in love with, so it won’t matter if you forget them.” 

“I guess?” Sylvain shrugs. Up until two minutes ago, he would have agreed with Ashe. It’s just that what if he’s an idiot? What if he is in love with Ashe, and he won’t realize what he’s got until it’s gone?

Even if he isn’t in love with Ashe, he couldn’t imagine forgetting him. Sylvain has been close to some of his friends his whole life. He’s only known Ashe a handful of years, but he’s easily the closest friend he has right now. His appetite dies and he’s nauseous again, but it’s not because of the flowers for once.

»»————- ✿ ————-««

Lately, Mercedes worries over him during the class they share together. She never used to be as pushy about making him drink water or eat, but she does now. Maybe it’s because he looks as bad as he’s been feeling, or maybe it’s because he’s practically pulling his hair out. 

“I wish you would take better care of yourself,” she’s saying. 

He interrupts her and only feels a little bad about it. “Have you ever fallen in love?” He asks. 

Mercedes stops everything she was doing. Talking, of course, but also pushing a bottle of water towards him. She starts to smile and Sylvain wonders if she’s about to make fun of him. Instead she smiles more gentle. “I’m not sure if it was love, but I’ve had romantic feelings before. And I love my friends and family. So yes, I think I’ve been in love in some ways.” 

What is that like? To love her family the way she does. Mercedes has been through some frustrating things in her life--and the two of them have the sort of friendship where they swap horror stories often enough--but she loves her family dearly. What is it like to actually like the people you’re biologically tied to. Sylvain can’t stand any of them. Not his brother for being the menace he is, not his father for treating Sylvain like some sort of golden child who only retains value if he does everything his father wants and nothing else, and not his mother for watching it all happen and never stepping in or helping him. 

And since he isn’t sure he can say he loves his family, how is he supposed to know what it’s like to fall in love with someone else? 

It isn’t fair to say he loves no one. He thinks he does love his friends, he’s just never really thought about it. Felix and Ingrid and Dimitri… he’s run to them his whole life for help and support and comfort. He thinks he loves them. But he doesn’t think he’s in love with them. Surely these flowers couldn’t be for them, right? Or maybe they are. He has no idea. 

Lately, he’s been paying more attention. His chest feels significantly tighter when he’s around Ashe. His head always starts to feel foggy when Ashe leans on him while they’re watching a movie or when his fingertips brush Sylvain’s shoulder when he walks by. It feels nice, but then it hurts when the pressure in his lungs acts up again. If this is Ashe, if he’s the cause, it isn’t hard to see why. They’ve always clicked together. Ashe is easy to talk to, he listens, he can be a little pushy on trying to solve Sylvain’s problems for him… but maybe Sylvain needs a problem solver in his life. He’s not as pushy as Ingrid can be. 

The problem with all this is that Ashe deserves better. He deserves someone without all of this weird baggage--Ashe has enough on his plate already. He deserves someone who isn’t so obtuse that they don’t even know if they’re in love with him. He deserves someone who helps out with more chores and who isn’t constantly making eyes at other people and who isn’t afraid of, well, committing. Sylvain is so afraid of commitment that he can’t even properly make a five-year plan, let alone fall in love. Ashe deserves someone else. And, if he is the cause of this pain in Sylvain’s chest, he deserves to live his life without knowing he’s the one killing Sylvain too. 

»»————- ✿ ————-««

He’s so sick. Absurdly sick--Sylvain hasn’t been to his classes in days. He’s sure he’ll have to retake at least one of these credits at this rate, and his dad might kill him for making him pay for a course twice. But, well, he’ll be dead. So his dad won’t matter. He wonders if he’s dead if his father will un-disinherit Miklan. Is that a possibility? He kicked him out when he was barely old enough to function on his own and there was a whole slew of reasons, but they all knew years before that he wasn’t going to leave his business or his wealth to Miklan. Sylvain thinks that’s part of why Miklan always hated him. 

He hears steps in the hallway and he tries to sigh, but it catches in his chest on the vines furling up in his lungs. Ashe has skipped classes too. He says he’s fine, he’s worked it out, but he hasn’t. He’s missing classes to take care of Sylvain and he’s going to get lectured for it--and on top of that Sylvain thinks he has loans. His stepdad isn’t poor or anything, but he’s not so wealthy he can write a check to cover entire tuitions without batting an eye. 

Sylvain spent the last night coughing up full-sized flowers. There’s a bin beside his bed full of them, and he’s been pretending not to care that they’re the same big daisy-aster-whatever things that Ashe mentioned before. Patience. Trust. Love. 

Ashe pushes the door open with his arm and he comes in with a bowl of presumably soup. He sets the bowl down on the table where Sylvain’s phone is charging beside the bed. There’s a pile of junk there too. Homework, keys, a game or two, stuff that Sylvain would normally keep organized but hasn’t felt up to putting away yet. “Aren’t you usually in class right now?” Sylvain asks with an unfortunate rasp in his voice. His throat hurts with every breath and word. It’s raw. 

“I… decided to drop that class,” Ashe hums. He sits down ever so gently on the very edge of the bed, as he often does. Sylvain wonders if he dropped the class because he’s been missing days, or because Sylvain hasn’t been able to help him with the work in weeks. He’s always been bad with math, he says, and he joked that he’d probably fail the course if he didn’t have Sylvain’s help. Maybe he is. Ashe dips his head. “Sylvain? I’m really worried about you.” 

Sylvain is worried too. Arguably more--he’s the one dying. But he scoots to the side and pats the spot on the bed beside him… and Ashe only takes a few seconds to understand the gesture and crawl closer to cuddle beside him. Ashe is sweet like that. He smells nice, his skin is soft, and he’s comfortable tucked under Sylvain’s chin. He’s warm, chasing away the perpetual cold that Sylvain has been feeling lately.

Sylvain could fall asleep like this. He almost does when Ashe speaks up. “Sylv..? I was thinking maybe it’s time to talk to a doctor about that surgery…” 

“Nah.” 

“Please? You’re too sick. I’m afraid to leave you alone, and maybe they can still cure you.” 

If Ashe is the cause of the flowers, and Sylvain is pretty sure that he is by now, it’s stupid that he ever missed it. He’s the exact sort of person that Sylvain should love. He’s smart and funny and he makes the worst jokes. He likes similar books and to cuddle for no reason--but especially when he’s scared. Is he scared now? Sylvain tries to squeeze him to be reassuring. It’s not very tight despite his efforts. “I don’t want to forget anyone important.” 

“This isn’t a story.” Ashe’s voice is wavering. He’s probably not crying, but he sure sounds angry and like he might. He’s probably an angry crier. That sounds right. “This is real and you need help.” 

“I do not,” Sylvain says. 

“You do too!” Ashe says right back. 

The fire dies in him when Sylvain asks, “What are you gonna do? Make me?” 

»»————- ✿ ————-««

Sylvain is dreaming. It feels dreamy as it’s happening, he’s sure that he’s aware the whole time he’s experiencing it that he’s dreaming, but there’s still a part of him that believes it might be real, too. He’s in a hospital bed, strapped down by his wrists. He can’t move. 

Ingrid and Felix are whispering to each other in the corner, their voices muted by the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. Dimitri is speaking to a doctor. When they notice he’s awake, Ingrid rushes closer. She takes his hand, but he can’t feel her. Probably because it’s a dream, but he’s scared. It makes him wonder if this is what it’s like to die. You can’t feel the people you love.

“Sylvain,” She catches his attention. “You need to confess your feelings, right now, or else the doctor has to do it.” 

This whole situation is absurd. A doctor can’t just open up his chest without his consent. Probably not anyway. And Ingrid doesn’t even know what’s going on. He never told any of them. Not unless Ashe ratted him out. So he shakes his head no.

As if just thinking about him summoned him, Ashe is in the room. Was he before? He has his arms folded and he looks anxious. “Are you alright?” Ashe asks him. 

Sylvain can’t tell him how he feels, because Ashe deserves so much better and Sylvain is afraid to admit he’s in love at all, let alone with someone he cares so much about, and he’s right here.

“Sylvain!” Ashe shouts, a little too loud to make sense in the room. “Sylv--Are you alright? Sylvain, hey!” 

He’s not dreaming anymore. Reality comes rushing at him and he snaps his eyes open when his mouth is literally pried open and Ashe’s hand is past his tongue, his fingers literally digging in his throat. He’s not sure what’s more horrific--the feeling of gagging around that or the feeling of a pair of thick, sticky flowers being pulled up and out of the back of his throat. Nothing pretty comes up behind them, and Sylvain tries (but likely fails) not to vomit directly into Ashe’s lap. 

There he is, looking just as panic-stricken as he did in the dream. “Are you--Are you alright? Your lips are--you were turning blue, I didn’t,” Ashe keeps going. Sylvain is dizzy. 

His eyes are wet with tears and his chest hurts. He dry heaves twice more before he finally thinks he’s okay. He can breathe. His head is pounding. “Th-thanks,” He tries to croak out. 

“You have to go right now,” Ashe says. Still too loud, but he’s clearly panic-stricken. He’s crying too--probably not because he’s in pain. He looks so angry. Sylvain can barely shake his head no. “If I hadn’t been here--What if I--If I had slept in my bed, you could be,” He can’t finish any thoughts. He scrubs his eyes with the back of his sleeve. The poor thing is just trying not to outright sob. 

“I can’t have surgery because,” Sylvain tries. His words are so hard to get out. He’s still trying to catch his breath. 

Ashe interrupts him anyway. “I don’t care what you want! I’m not--this isn’t an optional surgery! I can’t argue when I just, I had to--I’m scared.” 

Sylvain tries to sit up. Ashe pushes him right back down into the pillows, just barely pushing away the one covered in filth. Sylvain doesn’t think Ashe is strong enough to overpower him if he was at his full strength. Right now a strong breeze could topple him. 

“You asked me if I was ever in love, and I told you yes. I am. And I don’t know why you got the flowers and not me, I can’t answer why yours is any different than when I never confessed either, but I just…” Ashe pauses. He looks awful. This is the most unromantic thing Sylvain has ever seen. He’s shaking like a leaf and crying and his nose is running and he keeps sniffling because he can’t wipe it lest he let go of Sylvain’s shoulders. 

Still, Ashe takes that deep breath in and he says, “I’m telling you now. I love you--you’re the one--and so you can’t die. I never told you because I was afraid you wouldn’t--well I didn’t want to spook you because your family isn’t as supportive of you, but it doesn’t matter. I love you. I can’t watch you die anymore. I don’t care who you forget. Please go to the hospital. Right now. Whoever it is isn’t worth losing your life.” 

Is this what fixes it? Sylvain didn’t say it, but Ashe loves him. Maybe that means this is fate? Maybe less fate and more just possible. This is possible. They can love each other, so maybe they can build off of that and Sylvain can figure out the fears he has later. So if he says he loves Ashe too, is that all it takes to cure the pain? Maybe Ashe’s love alone is strong enough? 

Doesn’t matter. Sylvain faints. 

»»————- ✿ ————-««

Sylvain wakes up in a hospital and this time it’s real. He has thin oxygen tubes pressed into his nose that tickle. His elbow is sore when he shifts his arm because of the IV. Ingrid is there. She has her hand pushing nervously through her short blonde hair and she’s pacing. She’s on the phone. “I think he’s fine now, but I,” She pauses. “Bye,” She barely says. She hangs up the phone. She must have noticed he’s awake because she storms over. “Sylvain! I could kill you.” 

“But you wouldn’t,” He answers. It hurts to talk, but he can breathe more freely than he has in months. She’s lecturing him. It’s because she’s his emergency contact and she didn’t know. It’s because she thought it was a prank when the hospital called her until Ashe confirmed it. It’s because she was afraid. “What happened?” 

“Ashe called an ambulance when you fainted the other night.” 

“They did surgery..?” 

“No. From what I understand when they did a scan on your lungs you didn’t have anything left. The doctor said you ‘eliminated’ everything in the ambulance.” Ingrid says. She rubs her arms again. This time her voice is soft. “You almost died.” 

But he didn’t. And is he cured? “I’m fine?”

Ingrid half-laughs. “Sort of. You’ll be fine, but you’re dehydrated and wheezing so you’ll be stuck here for a couple of days while they sort that out.” 

“Is Ashe here?” 

Ingrid’s lips turn down. “I sent him home,” She answers. “He was too worked up, so I convinced him to take a sleeping pill and made Dedue drive him home.” 

“Oh. Dedue is here?” 

“Yes,” Ingrid answers. “He came here with Dimitri. Felix is out of town, but I was on the phone with him a minute ago.” 

Sylvain laughs--oh it hurts something terrible. “You hung up on him?” 

“He’ll get over it. Annette and Mercedes said they’ll come by to bring you some get well treats when you’re up to it.” 

“Oh. Does the whole world know?” Sylvain asks. 

Any smile she had fades. “No, but only because Felix and his father are running damage control. Playboy heirs to wealthy families aren’t supposed to catch diseases so rare people think they’re fake. We’re trying to convince everyone it was pneumonia.” 

So he’s cured. Just like that. “Where’s my phone?” He asks. Ingrid looks at the table. There’s a bag with his clothes in it, and she goes through it, but finds nothing.

“Ashe must not have brought it.” 

Bummer. He wants to check on him. Ashe, that is. “Can I use yours?” he asks. 

Ingrid hesitates, but then he watches her drag her thumb over the screen to unlock it. She passes it to him. He doesn’t waste time. He goes into her contacts, finds Ashe’s name, and sends a new text. I’m ok now. Come back? -syl 

He passes it back and Ingrid reads the message before she pockets the phone again. “Was it him?” She asks. Sylvain shrugs. Ingrid smiles at him. “I’m glad he saved you.” 

»»————- ✿ ————-««

Ashe brings in a small stuffed dog with him. Ingrid leaves them alone. She helped him comb his hair and ‘freshen up’ as much as he can when he’s stuck in a hospital bed. He’s on medicine for his pain and they don’t want him walking. It’s annoying. Worse than Ingrid or Ashe’s babying him combined. 

Sylvain tries to be charming when he dips his head to one side. “Aw,” he says. “For me?” 

Ashe steps forward and hands it to him. Just a little brown puppy dog with a darker brown spot on its ear. “Well, I didn’t want to get you flowers…” 

Silence hangs awkwardly over them for a few seconds too long. It turns into a couple of minutes while Sylvain turns the dog over in his hands and wonders what he should say. Eventually he settles on, “Hey. Thanks.” 

Wrong thing. Ashe looks offended. “Seriously? You almost died. I thought you were dying. And it was my fault! Don’t thank me.” 

Sylvain doesn’t know how this could possibly be his fault. He’s sure Ashe has had plenty of time to come up with a convincing argument, but Sylvain doesn’t want to hear it. “You aren’t even the one who was sick,” He reminds him. 

Ashe looks lost. He’s stuck in this dimension where he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be happy or sad or angry. Sylvain actually can relate to that one. He’s had that face himself before. So he shifts the way he did a few nights ago. He pats the spot beside him on the bed. Ashe looks more hesitant this time. Ultimately he makes the choice to sit on the bed with Sylvain like he wants, but he’s very particular about seating himself. He’s careful not to bump any bandages or IV fluid lines. “I’m glad you’re okay now,” Ashe says after he’s settled. 

“Me too,” Sylvain says. He drops his cheek on top of Ashe’s head. “So maybe you can help me figure this out, now.” 

“Figure what out..?” 

“Well, the best way to woo you, obviously. I already know your take out order and your favorite books. How do I date someone I already love?” Sylvain asks. He’s so happy to see Ashe squirming uncomfortably already. Just a shy action, he looks pink and has this tiny smile on his face even if he’s embarrassed. So Sylvain lays it on thicker--even if it hurts his throat to drag out his voice like this. “Aaaaaasssshhhhheeee. Will you be my boyfriend?” 

The answer is less immediate than Sylvain would have liked. Ashe shifts until he can sit up. He turns his head and catches Sylvain’s cheek so he can kiss him. It’s way too short. Not the first kiss Sylvain wants. It’s just a quick peck, one of those things you do when you’re rushing out the door or something. The tiniest peck, and then another one close behind on his forehead. “I want you to focus on getting better. I’ll be here when you’re healthy again.” 

Sylvain pouts. “So…. yes?” 

“So yes,” Ashe says, and maybe the sparkle in his smile makes up for the short kiss.


End file.
